Ken Doll
by ThomE.Gemcity-06
Summary: A new recruit is sent into the field and it's up to Damien to make sure he's ready - by any means necessary. Direct Orders. And perhaps form a connection in lieu of Stonebridge's absence. Warnings: Damien/OMC, Slash, Language, Sexual Reference, Sexual Language/Talk, Loss of Virginity,


**a/n: I know, I know. I'm supposed to be working on "** — **In Life" but a dearly unconnected plot bunny that was just so animated stole my attention, not a dead against a wall, and this is what happened.**

 **Summary:** _A new recruit is sent into the field and it_ _'_ _s up to Damien to make sure he_ _'_ _s ready - by any means necessary. Direct Orders. And perhaps form a connection in lieu of Stonebridge_ _'_ _s absence._

 **Warnings: Damien/OMC, Slash, Language, Sexual Reference, Sexual Language/Talk, Loss of Virginity,**

 **Strike*Back**

* * *

 **Ken Doll**

Kendall Brighton's focus was split in half as the unconscious registration of his name mentioned in the mission brief happening behind him, pulled his focus from his task of sifting through the back-log of chatter from Richmond's station.

"Corporal Brighton,"

"Ma'am." Ken quickly pressed a two-key tone on his keyboard, stood and turned on his heel in a smooth motion to find Dalton, Sinclair, Richmond, and Scott all looking at him; standing-easy.

"You're going into the field," Dalton informed him promptly in her usual brisk, no nonsense format.

"What? Me, Ma'am?" Ken couldn't keep the surprise out of his expression or tone. Of course, like every soldier assigned to Section 20, he was trained—even if he duty was to pick-up whatever Richmond sent him—he had never been assigned to the field.

"You're just Azmere's type, Brighton." Dalton turned on her heel. "Sinclair," she nodded to her Second and made leave.

"Of course," Sinclair nodded and took a single step forward. "Azmere, as you know, had come to our attention as of three days ago," the tall man gestured at Richmond, who spun around in her chair and started to type, bringing up some of their better surveillance shots of their target, "A mere middle-man in the organisation, but one that may very well lead us to the man at the top. We need to get into his house of operations, and give us some eyes and ears."

"And that's what you want me to do?" Kendall questioned. He'd never been asked to plant surveillance equipment in the field, but he was just as qualified.

"Not quite," Sinclair informed him. "We need Azmere and his second from the house and distracted. As we have observed, Azmere and his men like to frequent this club," Richmond brought it up on the screen, "The club is on a staging area, with bar and dance floor. There are private rooms for the 'higher clientele' on the upstairs floor. From what Scott has gathered from his night of surveillance; Azmere likes boys of the evening." Ken's expressions was a mask as he fought to absorb the information that he was given and not blank-out as Sinclair observed him closely. "You, Brighton, are the closest to the target's preference that we have. Richmond will give you a detailed booklet; read up. We'll reconvene in fifteen hours—you're going out tonight."

"Yes, sir." Ken replied promptly, trying to mentally push passed the barrier of his mission and what it was going to entail. He was happy to get an assignment out in the field, it just wasn't _quite_ in the aspect he was thinking—and there was just a _tiny_ detail that hinged on the entire mission, "It's just, sir…"

Sinclair paused. "Yes, Brighton?"

"I've never done this before," he admitted.

"We all have our firsts," the Major brushed his concern away.

"Yes, that." Ken agreed. "But I mean, sir," he pushed through his own embarrassment at saying this into a room full of soldiers, it was pertinent to the mission. " _Ever._ _"_ He emphasized, staring straight ahead.

Sinclair blinked at him once in reaction as he understood the Corporal's meaning. Richmond turned back to her station, Primary One, perhaps letting him save-face. Damien Scott, on the other hand…

"What?" Scott spoke up incredulously from where he sat sprawled back in the chair aside Richmond's station. He'd just been glad that it hadn't been him that Dalton had put on the target. This was one instant where he was alright with not being someone's 'type'. "You're sayin' you're a _virgin?_ That's still a thing?" he'd lost his own virginity to a girl when he was fifteen. He topped with a guy after he joined.

"Yes," Ken replied curtly, feeling the unwanted heat in his cheeks at Scott's blunt and _loud_ words.

"Ohoho!" Scott whooped and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees as he peered at Ken with obvious delight. Things had been _bor-ing_ since Stonebridge had been sent into the field without him, and he was left to stew in the Crib where there was zero action but to watch nerds on their computers. "He's blushes, too! Where did you find this _kid_ , Major?"

Ken ignored the 'kid' jab. He knew he had one of those faces. "Sergeant Scott is right, sir." He addressed Sinclair, "Anyone else would be more qualified."

"We're all under qualified until we're not," Sinclair told him firmly, not to be deterred. "The mission still stands. Richmond and Baxter will plant the equipment, Scott will watch your six in the event that things go south. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

Sinclair nodded his head at Scott, "Scott will show you the ropes." He gave the trouble-maker Sergeant a very pointed and meaningful flicker of his eyes.

"What? That's usually Mikey's thing." Scott said.

"Stonebridge is currently in the field and will not be back to the Crib in time. So is just became _your-thing_." Sinclair said crisply. Then intoned a jab of his own, "This is more your wheelhouse, I believe, anyway, Sergeant."

Scott stared back for a brief moment; if the Major thought this was going to make him baulk, then the British man had now idea who he was dealing with. An easy-grin slipped home across his lips as he leaned back in his chair, fingers interlaced behind his head, ankles crossed and kicked-up on the corner of Richmond's station. "You say that like it's an insult, Major. I call it recreational training."

"Of course you would," Sinclair muttered to himself. He turned and started to walk away, "Get it done, Scott!"

"Aye-aye, Major!" Scott mocked.

Richmond shoved Scott's feet off the side of her station with a shake of her head, and with the flick of her wrist, she was holding up the informational booklet on their target that Sinclair mentioned.

Scott snatched it up with a wink, before he turned his gaze onto Ken, who was frozen in his stand-easy position, with a shark-grin. "So, Mr. Brightside—"

"Kendall Brighton," Ken shook out of his stupor and turned his chin slightly to look at Scott finally. "Sir."

"No shit." Scott stood. "Well, Mr. Ken Doll, what's your alcohol tolerance?"

"Um…" Ken had no choice but to follow as Scott put an arm around his shoulders and started leading him from operations; he shot a look over his shoulder to Richmond, who flashed him back something that looked both in sympathy and jealousy. "Average."

"Oh, buddy." Scott shook his head. He lead them down the cement corridor, and to one of the few quarters within the Crib that actually had the privacy of a door. "We have a lot of work ahead of us. Azmere seems to have a thing for pretty-boys, so you've got that going for you," Scott pushed the young solider to sit on the edge of single-mattressed bed in the room.

"Thanks," Ken muttered without much sincerity, sitting straight-backed and hyper-aware.

Scott flashed him a grin, grabbing the wooden chair from against the wall, flipping it around, and straddling the back. "So, how deep of a virgin _are_ you?" it was asked as much out of professionalism as his own curiosity.

"Deep," he repeated the intentional word-choice.

"You're levels of virginity," Scott nodded. He listed from his fingers, "Kissing; tongues. Hand jobs. Blow jobs. Rim jobs. Eating carpet. Fingering. Penetration; vaginal, anal—top, bottom. See?"

"Fuck." Ken asked him, "Did I just walk into a pornographic pre-shoot read-through?"

"So, you watch porn." He mused. "That's a good start."

"Yes, I watch porn." Ken ground through his teeth.

"Well, then," he waved his hand, "tell me what I'm working with here." Scott encouraged. He could see that Brighton was fighting very hard not to blush, it was very entertaining. He learned to stop blushing when he joined.

Ken grumbled, "Kissing; tongues. Hand and blow jobs; both receiving. Fingering… myself."

And that beautiful blush broke across his cheekbones. Scott cheered internally. Mikey seemed to always get the best duties; who could have thought moulding young-minds could be such fun?

"Jeez!" Scott whistled. "When I said we have a lot of work to do, I think that was an understatement of the situation."

"Great." Ken stared at the point between Scott's brows, simulating looking the man in his eyes. His face felt like he'd eaten a chilli pepper.

"Alright." Scott cracked his neck from side-to-side. "I think your inexperience might actually be an asset with Azmere. His type—"

"His _type_ ," Ken interrupted, "Are young, _too young_ , pretty boy _prostitutes._ Last I heard, they _have_ experience—and know exactly what they're _doing_. It seems to me, that's what _he_ likes. It seems to _me_ , that's not _me._ "

"Well, from _my_ experience," Scott copied his tone, his forearms resting on the back of the chair, "And I have a lot of it—while having a partner with _experience_ , who _knows_ what they're doing is the fucking greatest sex… ' _innocence,'"_ he flicked a brow at the Corporal, "Can be very arousing, too."

Ken might have swallowed just a little at the smouldering look that briefly crossed Scott's expression.

"See?" Scott grinned.

"Alright." He scowled. "Is that all?"

"How old _are_ you?" Scott questioned suddenly.

Ken paused. "Twenty-five." Yeah, but it wouldn't be the first time someone assumed he was under eighteen.

"Shit." Scott ran a hand over his short hair. "Somehow, that seems even sadder than the _40-year-old Virgin._ At least Steve got some in the end,"

"Hey!" Ken protested.

"So, something wrong with you?" Scott squinted at him. "Did your uncle touch you as a little kiddie or something?"

"What? No. My uncle did not touch me when I was a kid."

"Fine." The corner of his mouth turned upward, "Did the manufacturers have a defect in your mould… Ken Doll?" he mocked.

Ken twitched at the question. "Will you stop calling me that? This isn't high school anymore."

"Oh, could have fooled me." And there was the age-jab. Scott's brows flickered with sympathy, "Small-dick syndrome. Tough break, buddy." He patted him on the shoulder.

"My penis is just fine!" Ken exclaimed indignantly.

"Hey, hey." Scott held his hands up briefly in innocence. "Then what's the deal, kid? What happened?"

"Nothing happened to me, okay?" Ken stood, slapping the info. booklet against his thigh. "No one touched me inappropriately as a child. I didn't walk in on my parents."

"Then, what _is it_?" Scott persisted. "Sex is one of the greatest things god gave us—and I don't praise god for much—which you would know if you had sex."

"You're circling," Ken told him. He scratched at the nap of his neck and his strawberry-blond hair. "I'm going to go now. I went to this 'seminar' just like everyone else. I know how to put A and B together. I have some reading to do." He turned for the door.

"Hey-hey." Scott stood and grabbed his arm. "Look, I know you think this is simple. And maybe it looks that way from the outside, but trust me—from the inside, it not. Have you ever been in the field, outside of training, in an uncontained situation?"

"No." Kendall admitted. "I'm trained just like everyone else in Twenty, but my job has always been to filter the Excess."

Scott nodded. "Because that's what this is. I'm not going to be able to have eyes on you the entire time if this works out likes it's supposed to. I won't be able to get to you instantly. It's too dangerous for you to wear a com. Nothing is straightforward in the field. Alright? Will you sit?" he released the man's arm and gestured to the bed.

Ken looked at him for a moment, before his steeled his jaw, took a deep breath, and returned to his previous seat.

Scott turn the chair back around and sat in it normally. "So talk to me. I need to know what's going on in your head if I'm going to have your back out there. What your reactions will be."

"It's nothing ominous, okay?" Ken finally admitted. He couldn't believe that this was happening, yet here he sat. "Being here, getting here… it's taken up all my time and focus. There isn't time to have a relationship—it wouldn't be fair to either of us. I didn't see the point. You know how it is, especially with you being in the field all the time."

"Relationships," Scott repeated. "You really are a kid. You don't have to be in a _relationship_ to have sex." He shook his head. "That's it?"

"That's it."

"Tough break, kid."

Ken sighed. "Somehow, 'kid' is worse than Ken Doll." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I'm an systems analyst. I never thought my first field assignment would be losing my virginity to a terrorist middle-man!"

"Nothing's cut and dry in this world," he said sagely.

"I've come to accept that— _very recently_."

"Alright." Scott sat back, rubbing at his hands as he observed the other man, "Why did you baulk when I made the jab at your Ken-mould."

"I didn't baulk." He denied. "You called me Ken Doll. The least you can do is be more original."

Scott completely ignored Ken's attempt to get him to change the subject by insulting him and instead gave him a droll stare that saw right through his divergence attempt. "Well, what is it, then?"

"Just a birthmark." He tried to shrug casually, but there was nothing casual about this 'birthmark'. "It's caused a lot of grief in the locker room." Both back in high school and after he joined; to think that soldiers could be mature, they were probably worse than teenagers. He did have the option to get rid of it with some cosmetic surgery, but it wasn't medically necessary or covered by his health insurance. It would have had to come out of his own pocket, and that was something he just couldn't afford.

"Birthmark, huh?" Scott crossed his arms over his chest. "Well, lets take a gander at this monstrosity," he clapped his hands, "See exactly what we're dealing with."

"Really?" Ken was definitely wishing he'd gone through with getting the surgery, despite the cost, right about now.

"Yep," Scott nodded. "I gotta see it." It was for the mission, he reminded himself. But fuck, was he enjoying this.

Kendall stood, and started to unbutton his BDU Jacket, shrugging it off, before pulling his undershirt off overhead—and waited, staring over Scott's head.

Scott stared. It took him a moment to actually understand _what_ he was looking at. It definitely was _not_ the kind of birthmark he'd been expecting. He'd seen many things in his life, but this was a first. And he was—ecstatic. "Is that...?"

"Yeah," Ken sighed.

"And it's-it's... _functional_?" Scott was so damn curious on that part. He'd always wondered, but he'd never _seen_ it in person. And the last person he expected to see with it, was a man—and Brighton.

Ken sighed in resignation. "Alright, already." He said impatiently. "Just do it." He was ready for the ridicule that his infliction of male polymastia always brought him.

But he completely and utterly misinterpreted the expression on Scott's face. What he didn't seem to know, was that for all his Delta Force training, and the shit he went through with the C.I.A. Scott was still like a kid that needed to _touch._ Even if it was a big bad red button that would rain some bad shit on them all (though he resisted that)—but this, he could not, and after an open invitation like that?

 _Well_ —Ken had been about to demand in impatience, his lips parted to do just that—when Scott sat forward, reached out, and brushed his calloused thumb pad over the third, pink little nub located at the curved definition of his peck, under his left nipple.

Kendall sucked in a gasp at the sensation that it caused. The hairs on his arms stood on end with gooseflesh. His nipples perked at attention, even as his 'third-eye' did not. It was a like a trigger-button.

"Whoohoohoo!" Scott laughed in delight. " _That_ got a reaction, didn't it?" He said back and gazed at the solider, "Why the hell haven't you taken advantage of this sex-button, Brightside?"

"Why did you do that?" he finally managed to demanded.

"After the open invitation you just gave me?"

"What? That wasn't an invitation. How could you think that was an invitation?!"

"You said 'just do it';" Scott charmed, "And I _really_ wanted to do it."

"Why?" Ken muttered, utterly confused now.

"Hot-damn, this is going to be even better than I thought." He pressed his palms together in an act of prayer and looked up at the ceiling, "God, thank you for sending Mikey out to get shot at instead of me, and just dropping this down into my lap, I think I might actually pay you back for this one this time around." Scott gave him a grin and clapped his hands in delight, "You're not losing one of your virginities to a terrorist, Kendall."

"Wha...?" Realization dawned, "You..." he was just blathering now, "We don't know each other _that_ well—"

Scott scoffed at him and raised a cocky brow. "So you're just going to go off and have sex with the terrorist that _you know so well_ —as opposed to your _team-mate_ assisting you in pre-mission-prep, saving you from said mission scarring cherry-popping experience?"

Ken blinked at him for a moment before he shook his head. "Well, aren't you a romantic?" he scoffed. "I've been listening about Azmere for the last several days," his said steely, "Certainly know more about him that _you._ _This_ is the most we've interacted since you started at Twenty—and it's pretty fucked up. I'm surprised you know my name— _half_ of the time."

"I make it a point to know who I'm working with—even the lackeys."

"Nice." He rolled his eyes, feeling mean, "I see what they say about you is true."

Scott didn't even twitch. "I don't give a shit what 'they' say about me. If I did, I would never bee able to get a job. D _efinitely better than my last gig_ ," he muttered, palming his mouth.

"What? Sinclair said to _show me the ropes_. Like, give me a few pointers for the field." Ken told him heavily, swerving back onto topic just as fast as it had swerved from him. He just kept getting shaken off-kilter; Scott never seemed to stay in one opinion. "Not commit D.A.D.T."

Scott laughed at that. "Section 20 _is_ D.A.D.T. The entire Military is D.A.D.T."

"This is fucking insane!" Ken exclaimed. "This isn't happening. I didn't sign up for this!"

"It's never what you sign up for," Scott told him solemnly, thinking of his own experiences. He looked thoughtful, "Or should I say: This is _exactly_ what you signed up for? I can never remember which it is. Anyways," he gave his head a little shake and focused back on his pristine, untouched Ken Doll. "This is a government agency operating in the shadows—you should have seen this coming a mile away."

"How eloquent," Ken noted sourly, still standing there bare-chested. "Can I go now? I have work to do." Yet, he still stood there, and he already knew why even as Scott pointed it out to him cheerfully a moment later.

"If I know Major Stick Up His Ass, he's already assigned someone to your station."

"I know," he cursed, shoulders slumped.

"Look, you get out there, you shove all this shit deep down, you _become_ someone else—and then you deal with all that resounding shit later. The Soldier and Kendall Brighton are two different people."

"Kendall Brighton _is_ a soldier,"

"Do you think I'm the same guy out in the field than when I _home_?" Scott said. "Whether you like it or not, the job is not always what we want it to be. Either suck it up and get it done, or what the fuck are you doing here, Kendall?"

"If this is my job, then I'm nothing more than a whore and the Majors are my pimps." He shoved a hand into his strawberry blond hair. "My parents would be so proud."

"We're all sell ourselves for something at some point in our lives,"

Ken looked at him. "You're full of sunshine and sweet-things, aren't you Sergeant?"

"Damien," Scott corrected him.

"Shit." Ken rubbed his forehead. That was it, the last straw. They were on a _first-name basis_ now. "Alright. Damien."

Damien grinned. "And I'm a _very_ sweet-thing, I'll have you know."

Ken gave a short bark of laughter in response. His lips twitched upward derisively, "Why do middle-men terrorists have such bad taste? I'm a dime-a-dozen in looks. Shot into a crowd and chances are you're going to hit something that looks like _this._ " He gestured to himself.

"I don't know if there's anyone _quite_ like you, Ken Doll." Damien smiled. He gave him a serious look, "You're a soldier. You've been given your orders. Now execute."

"Copy that." Ken stared back at the man seated before him and nodded firmly, a determined look sharpening his features. "Alright, Damien; 101—show me the ropes. How do I sleep with a terrorist and live?"

Scott slowly rose from the chair in a fluid motion of bunched and released muscles. Standing erect, there was simply just inches of space between the two upright men. Ken stared up into the pleased face of his superior, just now noticing the two-inch height difference.

"Listen to everything I say," and Damien pushed his back down onto the single bed with a warm calloused palm flat against his bare chest. Ken Doll was his plaything now.

xxx

Ken finally left Dalton's 'office' and his de-briefing with her and Sinclair for his after-mission verbal report. It was in the early morning hours the next day and could still technically be considered 'tonight'. He'd left for the bar that Azmere frequented and arrived before the target, allowing himself to used to his surrounding and be in place when Azmere showed up to make his move; of course a couple drinks helped—both in making him blend in and drowning the nerves.

He worked his elbow, cotton ball held in the crock of his elbow with two fingers. Their intelligence hadn't been able to delve _that_ thoroughly into Azmere with such short time and lack of resources. He'd been given a 'preventative' beforehand, so that was something at least.

The mission had gone successfully. Richmond and Baxter had gotten in and out without a hitch—and Ken had repeated that same motion all night. _Another_ thing intelligence hadn't sussed out before sending him in. Damien hadn't even been needed to come and kick down the room door and save his ass—no, his ass had been the safest thing in that room. In fact, Damien had given him the wrong lesson-plan entirely.

He had done it, just as Scott had instructed him. He shut down on the way to his drop-off point. He shoved all the 'Kendall Brighton' into the dark and became the Soldier with a mission—and would deal with the aftermath later (much later), whether that was healthy or not. Damien had to know what he was talking about. The American had survived his entire career out in the field and was still sane—if burying oneself in sex, alcohol, and jokes weren't a coping method, Ken didn't know what was. All Ken knew was that he was going to keep _this_ buried and stick his head in his work.

Fresh from the longest shower of his life, he felt raw like a live-wire, and slightly nauseous at probably swallowing half the bottle of mouthwash as if he could freshen his _insides_ back to their state previous the mission—he headed for his station, ready to see what fruits his labour had borne... only to be smoothly intercepted by Damien so that there wasn't even a falter in the strawberry blond's step. An arm slipped slickly over his shoulders had him expertly diverted from his lonely computer station, and down the same hall from that morning's lesson.

Ken groaned. He just wanted to work, jacked on flagging adrenaline and the strong black coffee he'd managed to find. He was far from the mood to deal with Damien Scott, yet he didn't resist the corral.

"What's up, buddy?" Damien clapped him familiarly on the chest. "You've been quiet. How ya holding up, buddy? Scarred for life now?"

"We doing this, really?" he questioned, looking up and aside at the other man.

"Yep." Damien pulled them into the same quarter's, shutting the door after him. "Look, I'm sure there were things that you didn't tell Lady Macbeth and her Handmaiden, but you can tell me," he spread his arms with a grin, "Just think of me as the guru to your sex life."

"Are we friends now or something, Damien?" Ken drawled, unresisting as Damien pushed him to sit on the edge of the bed. The same bed.

"What can I say? You lured me in with your _innocence_ ," he joked, standing in front of him. "Told you it was a powerful aphrodisiac."

Ken scoffed and gave him a deadpan expression, "Well, _that_ won't be an issue anymore."

"Come on, Kendall," Damien told him seriously, "Start talking."

Ken sighed, but complied. "Tutorial time:" he held up his hand and ticked off his fingers, "A good helping of foreplay: Kissing; tongue, rim job. Hand job, blow job; given, received. Fingering; given. Penetration; _given._ Threesome— _that_ happened."

Damien whistled. "Whoa, buddy!" He sat down next to him heavily on the bed.

Kendall interlaced his fingers tightly in his lap. "It appears that the Intel. was not as thorough as it could have been. Azmere and his Second are rather submissive out of 'the workplace'." He shuddered at the memory and wondered why he had drunk coffee at his return and not something _a lot_ stronger.

"Tough break?" Damien questioned, watching him closely.

"No." Ken looked up at him with conviction. "This whole thing would have been worse. Somehow, it was less violating. _I_ had control of the situation. _They_ were at the Soldier's mercy," he corrected.

"Ah." Damien let a partial smirk tease across his lips, "So you _did_ listen to me.

Ken gave a soft snort of amusement. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Well, it's gonna go to _one_ of my heads." Damien chuckled at Ken's expression as he involuntarily looked into the Sergeant's lap. "And what about my very favourite part of you?" he reached up and placed his palm flat on Ken left pectoral, low, almost as if he were cupping a woman's breast, placed over what he adoringly called Kendall's 'sex-button'.

Ken glanced down at his chest, then looked up at the man. "Unmolested," he reported. "It was dark. They didn't even notice it. Why?" he couldn't help but turn to the curiosity in the oddity of the man before him. "What's your obsession with it? It does nothing for _you."_

"Oh, it does plenty." Damien whispered in a tone that made Ken want to gulp and a shiver of anticipation go through him.

But Ken knew that Damien was just playing with him, trying to make him feel better—that was just the kind of man that he was under all those jokes and sexual innuendo. Huh. Maybe they really _were_ friend. It was the oddest start to one he'd ever experience, but weird didn't have to be bad.

"What are you doing?" Ken's voice made an involuntary squeak.

"Mhm?" Damien played distracted as he concentrated, his middle finger gently rubbing at Ken's shirt and the sensitive little nub underneath. "Nothing," it was said with such innocence, but the last thing Damien Scott was, was innocent.

Ken stared at the man in disbelief. "Are you s—" he cut off with a gasp as Damien scraped his blunted nail _just so_ and Ken couldn't stop the reaction, it was just more sensitive than the others.

Damien smiled. "That's was I was looking for."

Ken pulled the man's hand away and placed it in his own area, the corners of his mouth tight, his light brows furrowed in confusion and a little anger. "The assignment's over. What are you doing?" he could still feel the warmth of Damien's hand.

Damien sighed and straightened a little. "The assignment's over," he agreed, disappointment tugging the corners of his mouth downward briefly. "But post-mission blues are just as hazardous as pre-mission jitters. Especially for first-timers. Got to get rid of those—best way I know? Sex." Damien raised knowing brows at him, "You were going to go and hideaway in you computer—just like a Nerdy Ken Doll— _not_ decompress like I told you before all this. _Tsk tsk_. You're being a bad soldier, Brighton."

The man might as well have wagged a disappointed finger at him! Ken gaped. "You're pulling rank?!" the exclaimed was an incredulous revelation.

"Yeah, but in a good way." Damien gave him a pout. A little smirk suddenly played across those lips as he crossed his arms lightly over his broad chest. "I didn't hear you protesting the other morning. Just _moaning_ and _begging_ for ' _More, Damien!'"_

A deep blush broke across Ken's defined cheeks, chin and jaw slightly shadowed. It was something that he didn't think he had in him after the events of tonight. But there it was, that familiar heat in his face. "That's..." _true_. And it was. Being with Damien had stopped being about 'the mission' the minute he'd started kissing Ken, and Damien had started kissing at minute one.

"God, I love that." Damien cooed, unable to resist reaching up and brushing his fingertips along Ken's cheek, able to feel the flooded heat. In his line of work, with hardened soldiers and demented terrorists; there wasn't a blusher in the group. Only an _innocent_ could _blush_. It was so much different than the flush of exertion from sex.

"Is this..." Ken paused, licking his lips, "A mutual thing or an order?"

"I'd prefer mutual," Damien said, his blue gaze flicking to Ken's moist pink lips briefly before looking into his Kendal-green eyes, "But I can also make you want it."

Ken gave a shivering exhale. It had been so different with Damien than it had been with Azmere and his Second, and it wasn't for the fact that he bottomed for the former and topped with the latter(s). He wanted it with Damien; he had been forced to have it with Azmere. He'd ejaculated with Azmere but he took no pleasure from it. "You don't have to make me want it, Damien. I already do,"

"You slick sonuvabitch!" Damien laughed. "You've been holding out on me. If I had a pussy, my panties would be dripping."

"If I wanted pussy," Ken stood, looking down at the grinning man with confidence, "We'd be having a different conversation." He pulled his tee overhead, dropping it to the floor.

Damien stood, reaching out and caressing upward Ken's ribs, the pad of his thumb just grazing the edge of the sex-button's areola. Even that put a hitch in the man's breath. It was almost like a male version of a woman's clitoris, and man did he loved to strum that. He had the idle thought of seeing if he could make Ken come by just playing with his 'third-eye'. It was food for thought and something he would experiment with later. Right now, he had other plans.

He took a step back. "God, Mikey, you poor bastard." He laughed to himself inwardly as he kicked off his boots.

"What?"

"Nothing. It's usually Stonebridge that _hardens_ the newbies." He snickered. "Wait till I tell him what he missed with you."

Ken tensed, hands frozen on his belt buckle. "You're going to tell Sergeant Stonebridge about us?"

"Don't worry," Scott stepped to him, grasping his hips and fitting their pelvises together, their flies open and confined, growing erections hugging hotly together. "I don't like to share."

"Good." Ken stepped back and kicked off his pants and all the rest, leaving him naked and erect. He stood firmly in front of Damien, firm and confident, but still unable to keep the rose from his cheeks to match the hot blood in his cock. "Because I don't like to be _shared_. I'll be _your_ Ken Doll, no one else's."

Damien's eyes shone with heat and desire as he stared at his limited edition Blushing Ken Doll Equipped with a Specialty Sex-Button. "Fuck me," he muttered.

Ken smiled. "Maybe later, if you want. Right now?" he pushed the broader man back onto the bed, and pulled his pants and boxers off. "I want a replay."

Fuck 'innocence,' Damien thought as Ken crawled on top of him like he was the predator and Damien the fallen prey.

Another kid on the playground had taken his Ken Doll, but Damien had damn well gotten him back and now was just waiting for the order from Principle Dalton to give him the go-ahead to shove Azmere off the monkey bars for thinking he could touch the American's shit.

 _f_

 **Strike*Back**

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 **Can you believe I wrote this all down on** _ **paper**_ **before I typed it all up? I know. Anyways, talk to me. It's been a while since I've written for Strike Back, hope I did good writing Damien Being Damien. Thanks for reading, please review?**

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